


Drink & Be Jolly & Drown Melancholy

by APgeeksout



Category: WWE Immortals (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Multi, Parallel Universes, Pirates, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seth dreams of the sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink & Be Jolly & Drown Melancholy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salamandelbrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamandelbrot/gifts).



Seth dreams of the sea.

This place, whatever it is, has marble palaces full of high ceilings and leagues of tapestry and enough precious metals to fill a dozen heavy chests. It has neglected cemeteries where broken stones hide among the tall grasses and greenblack lichen mottles the granite faces of the somber statues and monuments. He finds himself fighting with his improbable allies in dank alleyways where impossibly-bright lights in all the colors of a fine captain's parrot reflect off the surfaces of oily puddles and damp stones. Or else squaring off against too-familiar enemies from the center of heavy wooden bridges that span chasms full of leaping flame and sudden floes of molten rock.

What there isn't (or, at least, what he hasn't found yet, even though this place offers up something new and inexplicable every day) is open water. So, he dreams of the sea: of salt in the air and stars in a clear sky, of the snap of canvas bellied full of warm wind and the shrills and caws of seabirds and the steady rhythm of a work song carried on and lifted up by a whole crew, of the rock and swell of the waves beneath sturdy timber and feeling so much steadier there than with the solid ground hard and dead beneath his boots.

Dreaming of the sea inescapably means dreaming of them, too; his brothers, his crew, inseparable in his dead heart from red skies at night and the awe of a storm at sea and the thrill of setting the ship to its course with his own steady hands.

Dean perched high up in the rigging, a dark, graceful shape against the golden sun, casting a long shadow over the sun-warmed deck below.

Roman whetting a sabre to a fine edge, a single beaded braid fallen across his face unheeded, one corner of his mouth ticking up in satisfaction.

The three of them piled precariously into a single hammock, drunk on laughter and sunshine, gold and rum.

Roman stroking the sweaty hair back from his face and leaning close to murmur filth into his ear, words at odds with the note of wonder in his voice and the reverence of the kiss he presses to his brow. Dean behind him, one hand warm and grounding at his hip, the other pressing into him by degrees, progress eased by the mixture of grease and Dean and Roman that drips down his quivering thighs. Both of them kissing praises into his skin.  Knowing, as he spills into Roman's fist and clenches hard around Dean's, that here - a keening mess held fast in the space between them - is the fullest he'll ever be.

Dean's face gutted and disbelieving, sea-colored eyes making an uncomprehending circuit from where Roman lies, slumped and twitching against the broad planks of the deck, up to Seth's coldest mask. Laughter echoing disdain and hysteria through his head as Dean finally lunges at him.

When he wakes in this place, he's still haunted by them: a Roman who isn't _Roman_ but still squeezes one hand tender and familiar against the back of his neck in celebration after a good fight; a Dean who isn't _his_ but who rarely sleeps the night through and watches him with wary, wounded eyes. There's even another Seth, body metallic and nearly as cold as his eyes.

Seth dreams of the sea, and hopes that no one dreams of him.


End file.
